Yes, Your Highness!
by Mistake Experience
Summary: AU First Year No magic. Upon learning that he is Lord Potter's bastard son, Harry must now attend to Hogwarts (V.I.P only) as his new half sister's butler, punching bag, bodyguard, bloodhound, and, sometimes, when she is in a good mood, as a regular student. It would be so much easier, though, if everyone stopped trying to kill him. Should he tell them that he just wanted to draw?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does. Damn it! I promised myself I wouldn't cry!**

 **Yes,** **Your** **Highness**

 _Prologue_

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much, and their home was the perfect example of good and proper, unlike others, like the Appertees, of number seven, who were currently arguing for all the spying housewives to see, including one Petunia Dursley.

Thanks to her long neck, she was, without a doubt, the queen of gossips, feared and respected by all, or so that's what she often told herself. She gladly ignored the whispers and the glares directed toward her, and instead blamed her nephew, the young Harry Potter, for her bad reputation amongst even the worst of her peers.

And so, to compensate, she did what everyone would do to hide their true self according to her: she made sure she'd always have the best house, inside and outside, in all Privet Drive, if not Little Whinging.

Their attic was regularly cleaned up and emptied, never mind that it was rarely used at all. The wood floor of the corridors and different bedrooms was polished every month until it shined even in the night, and the walls of the first floor were currently painted a blinding yellow, making a rather… interesting contrast with the green and pink trinkets, and other colorful photographs mostly showcasing what appeared to be a large pink beach ball having gone through a transformation and now sharing many similarities with a small blonde whale.

The lavender curtains moved slightly with an unseen wind, bringing some much needed air to the impeccable living room, and chasing away the heavy smell of bacon and grease coming from the kitchen.

The old stairs creaked under the weight of Dudley as he ran up to his bedroom, throwing the door open with unnecessary force, the sound of it banging against the wall echoing around the house. Of course, his actions were left without a comment on his proud parents' part, for the now 11 years-old was rather spoiled, as proven by the many toys littering his floor, most of them broken; and, really, who could blame him for his enthusiasm? After all, you had only one birthday per year!

While adjusting a rather boring dark blue tie and missing the spot of juice on it, Vernon Dursley chuckled.

"Atta boy!" he laughed, his mustache shaking along his nearly inexistent neck and big belly, as if agreeing with the beefy man.

He looked around the room, searching for his maroon vest, and made a small sound of victory when he spotted it on the red chair standing out against the pale pink of the room.

Hearing her husband walking down the stairs, she turned and smiled at the sight of him, so prim and proper.

"Petunia dear, today's breakfast was absolutely delicious! "

"Thank you Vernony-boo! Anything for my sweetums' special day!"

None of them bothered to mention the one who prepared this great meal, and the one before, and the one after… Even though the cook was in the "room" right next to the kitchen, and so, could probably hear everything.

"Are all the presents on the table? Is the camera ready?"

"Yes, all thirty-six of them! Could you go and fetch the _boy_?" the last part was almost spit out.

"But, Pety, you know how much the little tyke dislikes him! It will ruin his day, I tell you!"

"Someone has to hold the camera! I want a beautiful picture to remind us of this beautiful day."

With a great sigh, Vernon slowly made his way toward the cupboard under the stairs, and paused.

After a second or two, he shook himself and unlocked the door. In the dark, cramped space, shining emerald eyes stared back at him, and he barely repressed a full-body shiver. Oh, how he hated those blasted eyes! Always so defiant, always so judging, always so…beautiful. But he hated their owner so much more! The quite boy was so despicable, with his fake polite and docile attitude, his silence gave people time to think about his reputation and their actions. He thrusted the camera in the boy's face, nearly hitting him.

"Take this and come in the kitchen. If you break it…" he threatened.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

The bored tone tested his patience even further.

"And no funny business, understand? If anything happens to ruin Dudley's day, this cupboard will be the only thing you'll see for the next month!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." He tightened his fists until his fingers turned white, and was that purple on his face?

"Now, boy!"

The child unfurled his legs, and lazily got out of his sanctuary, hands in the pockets of his used and oversized sweatpants. Without any sound, he entered the kitchen and waited for the happy family to pose for yet another photo to proudly expose on the mantelpiece.

After throwing the initial and obligatory glare in his direction, the three Dursleys put on their best smiles. They looked real enough, although, Harry thought with a small, mirthless smile, everybody would be happy if they had thirty-six presents to open, even Dudley. He couldn't tell whether the parents' reason was that their son was not throwing a tantrum for once, or because they were truly proud of the little brat.

Probably a mix of the two, he concluded with a shrug.

The click of the camera seemed to be the signal for Dudley, and he rushed to the table, already starting the painfully long process of counting the gifts.

"Keep going, boy, I want to fill the album of this year with my little angel's smile."

Considering that every smile his cousin made reminded Harry of a sociopath or a serial-killer, depending on the situation, he wisely decided to keep his comments to himself as usual. With a wordless word, the young boy returned to his depressing work, which basically consisted of watching Dudley getting everything he would never have, at least not under this roof, while knowing that at least 70 per cent of those objects would end up crushed, either by accident or because they were getting too frustrating and refused to comply to his every demand. Harry could relate. The survivors would most likely be the books that Aunt Petunia stubbornly kept offering her spoiled son, despite the fact that he had never, and probably never would, show any interest in them. The clever boy was already thinking about a plan to give them the proper respect they deserved. He threw a glance toward the rapidly decreasing pile of gifts, and risked a small smile. Today, the hunt was good. He had only ever read extract from Peter Pan in class, and the illustration on Alice in Wonderland promised an interesting story. But the disregarded objects that really made his fingers itch were the charcoal pencils and the drawing pad, both of high quality, so much different from his own, and his smile grew just a little bit.

Harry had been thankful for his cousin's wicked lies only one time in his life. For if Dudley hadn't stolen his drawings from school and proudly showed them to his parents, claiming them as his own, of course, Aunt Petunia would never have proclaimed him as the new artistic phenomenon of this century, nay, this millennium; and though Vernon had grumbled about worthless, good for nothing artists, even he had to admit that, for a seven years-old, the talent behind the work was undeniable.

The irony of the situation was not lost on Harry. The compliments that he had always dreamed of had finally arrived, but they were for Dudley, not him. Still, the young artist always got a sick kind of pleasure when he heard the parents' bragging about their young prodigy, telling him that this was yet another proof of their son's superiority over him, all the while knowing that if they knew he was the target of their praise, they would probably have a heart attack.

Knowing this made it very hard for him not to tell them the truth.

So yes, while Harry hated his cousin with a passion, he was also very grateful; for it was thanks to him, that Harry had a dream.

On this fated day, when Aunt Petunia had barked at him to prepare a great feast to honor her son, while hugging and kissing her smugly grinning little baby, Harry had remained frozen on the spot. He had been so angry then, but so surprised too. Sure, he had taken the assignment seriously and was proud of the result, but it wasn't that good, right? If it wasn't for the fact that he'd had the best grade of his class and that his teacher had personally congratulated him on his work, he would have thought nothing of it. After, the old hag that was his aunt couldn't stop crying for nearly an hour when her son had given her a half-eaten home-made noodle necklace on mother's day.

And so that night, lying on his cot under the stairs, unable to sleep, he wondered.

If his drawings really were this good, and even now, he barely believed it; did that mean that he could have a… future? All his life, people had belittled him, treating him as though he was a delinquent, the scum of society, not worth the 'kindness' of his relatives.

But his stay at their home - not his, never his - was not free. He was their over-worked gardener, cook, maid, and everything they could desire. He had only ever wanted to be a part of this family, but they had been very clear about that: he was their 'useless freeloader', and nothing could change that. When he finally stopped trying to win their affections, it was both as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and a part of him had died.

But thanks to them, he had many house-holding skills that would surely be useful to someone willing to pay him for his hard work. He could get a job, or maybe more, enough to be able to rent a small studio, after all, he was used to cramped space. He could sell his drawings; maybe buy a spot in a park. He could spend the rest of his life doing something he _loved_ , and be paid for it!

He could finally prove to all of those disdainful people that he could become someone, unlike them.

And so, that night, he swore to himself that on day he would leave this house, and never look back.

He was snapped out of his thoughts rather brutally.

Dudley, having caught a glimpse of Harry's smile, had taken the first thing that could fit in his meaty hand, a beautifully crafted Nutcracker, and threw it at his cousin's head.

With a small cry, Harry dropped to his knees and raised his hands to his forehead. He could already feel a light bump. Hearing his aunt rushing to his side, sounding very worried, he looked up, startled and stupefied. _What the...?_

"The camera!"

Harry let out a sigh of annoyance. He should have known. Feeling vindictive, he took advantage of the commotion to slip the toy in his pocket. Nobody noticed, too busy fussing over the unbroken camera. Feeling his uncle's hand taking a fistful of his hair, Harry cringed and hissed in pain when he started tugging.

"We gave you one order, boy! One!" his uncle barked in his ear.

Against his better judgement, the young boy scowled.

"It's not even broken!"

His uncle's face turned into a fascinating shade of purple.

"You-! Clean up this mess, and get back in your cupboard! If I hear one complaint…!"

Harry clenched his jaw and bowed his head, his dark bangs overshadowing his poisonous eyes, breathtaking in their fury. He gave a jerky nod, and set to work on the sea of torn wrapping paper. Behind him, he could hear his Aunt hurriedly promising to a screaming Dudley that she wouldn't let 'the mean little brat' ruin his day.

Sometimes, when he felt particularly poetic, Harry thought that Dudley looked like an angry god – with the looks of a pig with a wig, yes, but a god nonetheless - and he wondered if this was the reason Dudley got so many gifts. Were his parents trying to appease him? Or were they worshipping him? But then, Dudley would start bawling, snot and fat fake tears running down his face, and the illusion would shatter like glass.

Hiding the books and the arts supplies under his large shirt, he turned around and stared at the trio he so hated.

"Done."

With a grunt, Vernon escorted him back to his cupboard, and reminded him of the consequences of his acts, before locking door.

Huffing angrily, Harry lay down on the thin mattress and waited until he heard the front door shutting with a soft click before he let out a scream of frustration.

Why did his so-called family have to be so insufferable? Why did he have to live them?

Why did his parents have to die?

The last part was thought softly and sadly.

Why had his parents been so selfish that they had drove around while being drunk and with him in the backseat?

Weren't adults supposed to be the responsible ones?

His dark thoughts seemed to bleed into his drawings, and he only noticed that he had taken out his art supplies when the mine of the pencil broke under the pressure.

Upon seeing what he had drawn, he let out a small laugh and his thoughts brightened. The motorbike of his dreams - literally and figuratively - seemed to be flying, caught in mid-jump like that. The driver was just a dark blur, as usual, almost invisible against the starry night.

He carefully hid the pad under his cot and decided to sleep until dinner. The Dursleys always said that he wouldn't leave his cupboard for a month, but if he did, then who would cook and do the choirs? He hadn't seen Petunia doing any housework since he was old enough to lift the frying pan and read the cooking books. No, as much as they hated it, they needed him, they depended of him. And one day, he would use this to make them pay.

His opportunity appeared two months later in the form of a letter, addressed to one stupefied Harry Potter.

* * *

 **Hello Gentle Readers!**

 **Kind of nervous about this chapter, 'cause it's my first fanfic ever, so...**

 **A little 'warning', english is not my first language, so if you spot any mistakes, about the culture or the grammar, please let me know.**

 **Well, hope you liked it, if you did, you know what to do.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does. I'm merely playing with the grown-ups' clothes…**

 **Yes,** **Your** **Highness**

 _Paranoia?_

If there was one thing Harry owed to the noisy housewives of Privet Drive, it was his ability to know when he was being watched.

Keeping his head bowed over the bush of roses he was supposed to be trimming, Harry raised his eyes and surveyed the street. He had left his glasses in his cupboard, useless with all this rain, but he could still see well enough to know he was alone, which, considering the weather was not that surprising. Even with the deafening sound of the rain hitting the pavement and the occasional crack of thunder, he could hear the sound of the television and the Dursleys' stupid laughter. He closed his eyes, and could almost smell the tea and cakes he had prepared, and feel the warmth coming from the fireplace. But when he opened them, the smell of the humid earth and the feel of his soaked clothes reminded him of the harsh reality. Once his gardener job was over, all he would receive would be a glare and a glass of water, straight from the tap. If he was lucky, maybe he could catch some sleep in his warm cupboard, but he doubted it. The closer his birthday got, the meaner the Dursleys behaved. It was almost as though his aunt and uncle were panicking, like his eleventh birthday marked something special. They kept throwing nervous glances around, and frankly, Harry was starting to feel apprehensive too, which was really annoying because he had no idea why _they_ were so worried!

Two days ago, he had gone with his aunt to the grocery store to show her what to buy for the special meal he would have to prepare for Dudley's admission in Smeltings Academy. They were waiting in the line when she caught sight of the security agent. Harry had never seen her so pale. Without buying anything, Aunt Petunia nearly ran out of the store, tugging forcefully on his arm all the way back home, and had talked in hushed whispers with Vernon while the young boy prepared the dinner. Now, Harry would never call his aunt sane, but she was far too attached to her reputation to lose her cool in public like that. Which beg the question, what had been so special about this agent? It could have been an old acquaintance, but where could she have met him? They were too different to belong to the same social circle; the stoic dark skinned-man almost embodied the military spirit with his impeccable stance, clean-shaved head, and muscular built. His aunt had always looked down on the soldiers, calling them 'brainless thugs', though never in their hearing range, of course. No, Harry really couldn't understand the blonde's reaction.

This time, when the tingling sensation came back, his head snapped back, and his eyes looked frantically around for the culprit. There! Catching a movement in his peripheral vision, Harry quickly turned around, only to see a rotating CCTV camera. But Harry was sure it had not been there before, so why? It wasn't as though Little Whinging was known for its criminal history. Actually, according to the neighborhood, Harry was the only 'delinquent' here. Though if you counted Dudley and his little gang of bullies…

He frowned up at the camera, which seemed to be spending more time focused on him than on the other side of the road. He automatically waved his hand, and immediately felt foolish. His burning cheeks brought him some warmth, and he hurriedly got back to work. The sooner it was over, the sooner he could go back inside.

Cleaning his dirty hands with the rainwater, Harry slowly made his way back inside, carefully wiping his dirty shoes on the doormat.

"You better have done your job thoroughly, boy, because if you didn't, you can say goodbye to your dinner."

Even if his 'dinner' only consisted of a slice of bread and a piece of ham, it was true that he couldn't afford lose it, as sad as it was.

Seeing his aunt's eyes zero on his stained clothes, he quickly thought of a way to distract her.

"Have you noticed the new CCTV camera in the street?"

There, that ought to make her forget him. After all, as a self-proclaimed 'well-informed neighbor', she had to know all about it. This piece of information didn't have the intended effect. Instead of launching into yet another diatribe about how she had heard from Mrs.X, who had heard from Mrs.S, who herself had, and etc…, her face turned as white as a sheet.

Trembling, she turned to her husband who was in a similar state.

"Vernon… You don't think that they-"

"Nonsense!"

Already, fury was replacing fear, and his reddening face slowly approached its famous purple shade.

"But who else-"

"The bloody government, that's who! They put those blasted things everywhere, wasting the honest people's money…" the last part was grumbled, and sounded suspiciously like the beginning of an over-used rant.

Giving a shaky smile, Aunt Petunia gave a small jerky nod.

"You're- You're probably right. Why would they act now, after giving no sign all this time?"

Having properly reassured herself, she turned back to her nephew, and wrinkled her nose.

"Don't stand there dripping on the carpet, boy! Go take a shower! You have five minutes."

Knowing that his aunt was serious about the countdown, he ran up the stairs, shed his clothes - almost lose an eye in the process -, and stepped under the blissfully hot water.

After rubbing himself raw, he ignored the way the now scalding water burnt his skin, and thought back on his aunt's recent reactions to seemingly ordinary details.

The security agent had barely spared them a glance, and, if Uncle Vernon was to be believed, the apparition of surveillance camera in Privet Drive, though unnecessary, was not that surprising.

Now, as much as Harry despised his aunt, even he knew that, except when her family was concerned, she wasn't prone to demonstration of madness - at least not in public. The fact that she hadn't even slowed down in her escape from the store when everybody stared at them was very worrying indeed.

Who were those _'they'_ his aunt spoke so fearfully of?

What did she mean by 'all this time'?

Hearing the sound of footsteps in the corridor, he turned off the water with a sigh. Sometimes, it seemed as though his life was just one big question mark.

His aunt rapped sharply on the door and Harry hurriedly dried himself with his small towel, before tying it around his waist.

"I'm done!"

"Then take your clothes and go do the laundry, then you can eat!" and she was gone again.

Harry sighed again, louder this time. His work in the garden had exhausted him, and after the relaxing shower, all he wanted to do was to eat and sleep. He could smell the mouth-watering fragrance of the honeyed ham and the mashed potatoes he had spent an hour cooking under the strict surveillance of his aunt. He groaned, and his stomach agreed with a growl of its own. Harry patted it lightly.

"I know, I know…"

Well, better be quick about it then.

* * *

If the Dursleys thought for one second that everything would go back to normal, they were certainly proven wrong the next morning.

Oh, Petunia still woke Harry up at an ungodly hour, yes, and he did cook the daily full English breakfast, true, but to the horror of two of them, the obviously very expensive-looking letter was a clear sign that the nightmare was only beginning.

Harry probably would have paid more attention to his eldest relatives' facial expressions if he hadn't been so furious. He had been so stupid! He knew them well enough to anticipate their reaction. As if they would ever let him keep something valuable! Though, he had to wonder? Why would anyone send him a letter?

Actually, judging by the lack of stamp, the sender hadn't bothered with the Post Office. That, the great quality of the envelope, and the official-looking wax seal… The writer was obviously wealthy and old-fashioned. But it just didn't make any sense! And yet, it was his name and his address written on the smooth paper, both unnervingly very detailed. It may have been his first letter ever, but he was pretty sure that this much information was not normal.

 _Mr. Harry James Potter_

 _The Cupboard under the Stairs_

It almost seemed as though the sender was merely showing off his knowledge of Harry's living arrangement. He had to admit, though, it was both impressive and eerie. At first, he thought it that maybe this was just a hoax, that someone was aware of his situation and had decided to play a prank on the Dursleys, but the writing itself screamed dignity. Clearly, the one behind the letter was not the type to waste their precious time on a simple joke.

The sound of ripped paper snapped him out of his thoughts, and he whipped his head toward the infernal trio. With a slightly manic smile, Vernon walked to the fireplace, and threw the pieces of paper in the flames. Harry automatically made a move in its direction, before stopping, wide eyed, and lips moving soundlessly.

Hearing his uncle's voice turned his desperation into burning fury.

' _How dare he!?'_

He clenched his teeth, his jaw aching, and the small pain temporally cleared his mind.

' _One day, they'll pay. I swear they will regret every hit, every insult, and every order. One day…'_

They had just destroyed the only thing that ever belonged to him. His clothes and books used to be Dudley's, and even his glasses had been found in some lost objects box. He had never been so determined to leave this bloody house.

Without waiting for the usual demand, he directly went to his cupboard, retrieved his art supplies, and vented his hate, frustration and determination in his drawings, only stopping when his fingers grew numbs. Different scenarios of the Dursley's gruesome deaths flashed through his mind, and he poured them on the paper. The experience was strangely therapeutic.

* * *

After the letter incident, Harry was forbidden to step out of the house, which meant that his only way to escape Dudley's gang was to stay in his cupboard all day long. Unfortunately, being free of his gardener duty didn't mean that he was exempt of his other chores, and so could only hide when those were done. Suffice to say that Harry got his fair share of bruises and scrapes during this hellish week, and his aunt's and uncle's growing paranoia only got more and more annoying as the days passed.

The young boy was polishing the silverware when his uncle frantically barged in the room, as if he had been running. The last part alerted Harry that something terrible had happened.

He hoped it concerned Marge. Did that make him a bad person? He thought about it for a second, before he gave a mental shrug.

' _Meh, I can live with that.'_

He refocused on Vernon who was still gasping for breath in the middle of the living room under the worried gaze of Petunia.

"Vernon dear, what is wrong? Is it Marge?"

Harry crossed his mental fingers.

"Pack your things, we're leaving!" Vernon bellowed, a mad glint his eyes.

"What-"

" _They_ ' re here!" he hissed urgently, his mustache twitching in rhythm with his eyebrow.

The housewife's eyes widened so much they seemed to be on the verge of popping out of her skull. Without a word, she got up and raced to the second floor, screeching Dudley's name.

Harry stood in the kitchen, stupefied. Seeing this, his uncle furiously pointed his finger toward the hall, in the direction of his cupboard.

"Are you deaf, boy? What are you waiting for?"

Taking a small brown paper bag, Harry made his way back to his cupboard, apparently too slowly for his uncle who snapped at him to hurry up.

Quickly hiding his arts supplies and books amongst his few clothes, he considered the Nutcracker, before carefully wrapping it in his uncle's old pair of socks. Who knew if they would be coming back?

The car door had barely been closed before Uncle Vernon stepped on the gas. It was only after the third hour that his aunt dared to question her husband's actions.

"Vernon, love, are you _sure_ that-"she hesitantly began, only to be immediately interrupted.

"I saw them, with their black suits and sunglasses!"

"Maybe they were just ordinary bodyguard…"

"No! You know which day we are tomorrow, don't you?"

She turned an alarming shade of white, and stared at Harry in the rear view mirror. She stayed quiet after that.

* * *

They didn't stop once, even when the sun set and the stars came out. Harry was growing more and more worried. Ever since he could remember, his uncle had never missed a goodnight sleep, and from what he could see, Vernon was not used to still be awake at 2am. It was the fourth badly repressed yawn in an hour, and the sleepy boy was starting to think that, just maybe, he was going to die.

Another yawn.

Okay scratch that, he was definitely going to die. Should he start praying? In his experience, it never changed anything, but at this point...

' _Though it would be kind of ironic'_ he sluggishly thought. _'Being the sole survivor of a car crash at one year old, only to die in one ten years later…'_

And then he fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke up to the sound of rain, and, except for his sore back, it was by far the most peaceful awakening he'd had in years. He was pleasantly surprised to find all his limbs still attached to his body, but he was, however, not happy to find himself confused, again. He really hoped it wouldn't become a habit, but with his luck…

They were just entering one of those almost deserted coal mining town, and the artist in him couldn't help but notice how depressing it looked. Everything seemed to be in a different shade of grey: the buildings, the houses, the sky, even the people. He could almost mistake the rain for ashes.

All in all, the town seemed to be able to dull even the most upbeat person.

Uncle Vernon parked the car near what seemed to be the abandoned port, and got out of the car, slamming the door.

The silence seemed to grow heavier by the second, but none of them tried to break it.

The beefy man came back half an hour later, a long package under his arm, and a smile on his face. He held up a bag full of food, as if he was coming back from a tiring hunt.

"Everyone out, we have finally arrived!"

He led them to a small boat, and gave his car keys to the man standing next to it.

Ignoring his wife's protests and questions, he started the engine of the boat. The only thing in sight being a crooked little shack, their destination was easy to guess.

The miserable house was as fragile as it looked, and the fact that his uncle was ready to make his precious family sleep, and maybe even live there said a lot about the importance of the situation.

After a measly meal and a fake crying session, curtesy of Dudley, Harry lay down on the hard floor - dirt actually – and waited until Dudley's breathing had slow down and became loud snore to take his drawing pad out of his bag. Having been bored out of his mind during his time spent away in his cupboard, he had made a small animated cartoon representing a small birthday cake on the corners of the sheets of paper.

When his cousin's watch beeped, Harry started flipping rapidly through the sign, blowing on the candles in synch with the drawings and stared sadly at the last picture.

 _Happy Birthday Harry!_

Against his better judgement, he made the same wish as every year, all the while resigning himself to another year spent with the Dursleys, without anyone coming to take him away.

With one last sigh, he lay down on his back and closed his eyes… only to reopen them a second later when a great boom filled the cabin.

The door opened with a loud bang, and in the doorway stood the tallest man Harry had ever seen, reaching almost 9 feet.

With the storm behind him and his height, the intruder was truly awe-inspiring, and for a moment Harry thought he was an angel of the Apocalypse.

It wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he made his wish, but he certainly wasn't about to complain.

* * *

 **Hello gentle readers!**

 **First of all, thank for the support and the reviews. I was kind of nervous, still am actually, so it's great to know that some people enjoyed this idea.**

 **The next chapter will show most of the differences between the two worlds, especially this version of Diagon Alley, and the meeting between Harry and his "half-sister".**

 **The idea of this story comes from Harry's alibi in most crossovers (in which Voldemort is 'just' a terrorist, and his adventures are 'mugglified') and a recent Kuroshitsuji binge watching/reading, mostly for the different roles of the Noble families.**

 **Again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I'm not too sure about it...**

 **Have a nice day (or night)!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does. There, I said it. Happy?**

* * *

 **Yes,** **Your** **Highness**

 _Need to know_

For a long time, nobody moved or said anything.

It was as though someone had pressed the pause button of life, and Harry had never seen the Durleys standing so still for so long. The spell was broken when the intruder turned toward the fascinated young boy, ignoring the stares of everyone in the room.

The corners of his dark eyes crinkled, and Harry guessed the man was smiling. He wasn't used to be the reason of someone's happiness, and found that he quite like the sensation. With such kind eyes, the stranger was obviously not a threat, but judging by the Dursleys' tense posture; they were not sharing his opinion.

"Yeh look just like 'em!" he said happily. "Yer dad's hair and yer mum's eyes!"

Harry saw a flash of teeth before the giant's untidy beard covered it again, even though it seemed trimmed, hiding half of his face.

His expression changed radically though, when he caught sight of the three other inhabitants, huddled together in fear.

His eyes narrowed sharply, and his lips seemed to curl in disdain upon seeing Vernon's pitiful attempt to appear threatening with his rusted rifle.

Ignoring the gun entirely, he approached the trembling family and only stopped when he was right in front the terrified father.

"Stay where you are, you brute! If I have to, I will use this!" Surprisingly, he didn't stutter, though his voice was noticeably higher than usual.

The mysterious man's scoff showed how he impressed he was.

"With that old thin'? Yeh would hurt yerself more than me! And the safety ain't even off for god sake!"

It was difficult to say whether the idiot felt more embarrassed or frightened, but when the stranger snatched the riffle from his hands and threw in the corner of the room, his squeak was all they needed to hear.

Harry, tired and not willing to be the witness of yet another 'Dursley-special' tantrum, decided to do the polite thing and introduced himself, even though the man apparently already knew him.

"Hum, Hello, sir. My name is Harry. I'm sorry but, who are you?"

Fortunately, the giant seemed amused by his clumsy interrogation, and turned back to him.

"Ah, my bad. The name's Rubeus Hagrid, Keepers of Keys and gardener of Hogwarts, yer new school."

"I' m sorry, what?" Harry said blankly.

"Yeh… do know about Hogwarts, right?"

Seeing Hagrid's expectant though suspicious expression and hating looking like an idiot, the boy quickly thought.

 _Hogwarts_ …

Yes, he had already heard that name before, something about a school his old teacher's son had got admit into. His father had been so proud; it was the only thing he could talk about for weeks.

"It's the… school for gifted or wealthy kids, right?"

The three adults in the room seemed to let out collective sigh of relief, and Harry briefly turned toward the Dursleys, before asking the obvious question.

"Well then, pardon the question but, why are you here? Dudley is already going to Smeltings, you know?"

Hagrid froze and kept staring incredulously at Harry who started to fidget.

"What?" he murmured.

When he received no answer, he looked side way to the other inhabitants, only to find his aunt and uncle looking as though they had just been given the death sentence.

"Yeh didn't tell him?! Yeh didn't tell him who he was?"

Harry almost interrupted then - he knew exactly who he was, thank you very much - but the furious look on the gardener's face quickly dissuaded him.

"Yeh didn't tell him what his name means?"

Now Harry was just confused. As far as he knew, Potter was a pretty common name in Britain, and no one had ever even blinked when he told them who he was.

"Yeh- Don't yeh know that this boy is important? Don't yeh understand his role in our society?"

He had the impression that Hagrid wasn't talking about the 'children are our future' thing.

Upon hearing the giant's last questions, the Dursleys' aversion of Harry seemed to give them the strength to answer.

"Important?! This boy's only role is to be the scum of society! Just like his father!"

"Just because my father was a jobless drunk, it doesn't mean that I will be one too!" Harry yelled angrily.

" _A jobless drunk!_ How dare yeh speak of Lord Potter that way?!"

"L-lord?" Harry stuttered faintly.

Hagrid suddenly looked guilty.

"Aye, he was. Sorry yeh had ter find out like that. If those idiots had done their part…" Looking at the Dursleys, his tone hardened again. "Yeh had the great honour to raise James Potter's only son, the last of his name, and yeh-"

"His son?! More like his _bastard_!"

Harry heard Hagrid inhaling sharply, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

A bastard. His aunt had already called him like that, but he had always thought that it was just to show him how angry she was. He had never imagined that it was actually true…

"Don't call him that!" Hagrid roared.

"But it's true, isn't it?" Harry asked quietly.

The question obviously made the giant uncomfortable.

"Well…"

It was all the answer he needed. He looked up when he felt large warm hands on his frail shoulders. Even on his knees Hagrid was at least two heads taller than him. It was only when something salty touched his lips that he realized he was crying, and he suddenly had trouble breathing.

"Yer father was a good man, yer mother was one of the kindest person I ever met, and they both loved yeh very much, never doubt that."

"But then, why am I a-"

"Someone else will tell yeh all about that. For now all yeh need ter know is that yeh'll study at Hogwarts, under the Great Dumbledore."

"Oh no, he won't! I refuse to let him go there! He doesn't deserve it! I won't pay for it!" His aunt screeched.

"As if yeh could afford it!" Hagrid let out a bark of harsh laughter. "He belongs ter Hogwarts, as did his father, and his grand-father, and every Potter before them!"

"He is just a little bastard! He doesn't belong to their world, just like my sister! They don't deserve this honor!"

Her tone was so full of jealousy; it was a miracle she wasn't turning green.

"Yeh liar! She was the brightest girl in the school, and her son will probably be as great as her!"

"She disgraced herself and our family when she slept with a married man like a vulgar slut! What is so great about that?!"

Hagrid's hands squeezed painfully his shoulders, and he would have winced if he hadn't been so shocked by the giant's next words.

"They died like true heroes, show them some respect!"

"But, the car crash…" His laborious breathing worsened, and the edges of his vision were darkening.

"The what! What did yeh tell him about his parents' death?!" He took a deep breath and, calmer, he stared into Harry's eyes. "Forget what they said, yer parents died protecting yeh. Yeh three are considered heroes by those who know the story! Always remember that!"

"They… loved me?"

"More than anything. More than life." He said solemnly.

Harry gave a small smile.

"That's… good."

And then he fainted.

* * *

The first time he woke up, he was being carried away in Hagrid's warm arms. He could smell the odor of grass, firewood and leather on the giant's coat. It was strangely familiar in a reassuring way, and he fell back asleep.

* * *

The second time was when his head banged against something, hard. He only heard a part of a panicked apology before he lost consciousness, again.

* * *

The third time was also the last, and he came back to the land of the living gradually. Judging by the rocking motion, he was now on a boat, and judging by the sun's position, it was at least 8am. Hearing a humming, Harry turned his head toward the sound, grunting slightly. With his luck, it had probably been the corner of a table or something.

"Yer awake! Finally!" The loud voice made Harry wince and his head pound.

With a quiet 'yes', he blinked the sleep out of his eyes and looked around. He didn't 'now much about boats, but even he could tell this one was rather nice.

It was small, yes, but well taken care of, and both Hagrid and he could comfortably fit. It advanced at a steady rhythm toward the rapidly growing little town, even without the giant piloting the boat.

"Here." Looking up, he took the offered thermos with a nod of thanks and brought it to his lips. After taking the first sip, he paused and immediately spit it out.

Wrinkling his nose at the strong smell, he looked at Hagrid with wide eyes.

"What the bloody hell is that!?"

The nice gardener took the offending object back and sniffed it. With an embarrassed chuckle, he gave Harry the other one.

"My bad, my bad! Here, that should be better."

Suspiciously tasting the drink, he relaxed, recognizing the familiar taste of Earl Grey. Taking the time to enjoy the tea and the feel of the salty wind brushing against his face like a gentle caress, Harry sighed deeply.

"So it wasn't a dream…"

Hagrid didn't say anything, and just looked at him.

"What you said about Hogwarts, about my parents, about me… Was it true?"

"Yes, it is. Yeh shouldn't have found out that way, though. Sorry."

Bringing his knees to his chest, Harry gave slight shrug, and stared into the dark liquid. After another moment of silence, he asked distantly, still deep in his thoughts and not really interested by the answer:

"What happened after I…fainted?"

"Not much, really. The Dursleys went back ter sleep after I nicely asked them ter, and since we couldn't leave because of the storm, we spent the night there. The sea only calmed down this morning, and now we're goin' ter London ter buy your things and meet someone."

"What things? And who are we meeting?"

"Yer school things. Oh, which reminds me…"

He gave Harry a crumpled letter, the same as the one who had started everything, but with just his name on it, and with slightly trembling fingers, he opened it.

With all the troubles it had caused, he was almost expecting it to hold the secrets of the Universe, and so, was slightly disappointed when it turned out to be an ordinary letter of acceptation, though a very fancy one. _Hogwarts School for Heirs and Gifted_ was actually kind of intimidating, especially with all the Headmaster's titles. The Victoria Cross? The George Cross? Member of the Order of the Garter? What was a knight doing in a school? Even Harry had heard of him on the news and in his history class.

"We're the 1st August, isn't it too late?"

"Don't yeh worry 'bout that, yeh've got special circumstances. We'll take care of it once we're back in London."

"Where we will be meeting…?"

"Afraid I'm not allowed to say, but don't worry, she'll tell you everything about… well everything, really."

Before Harry could ask why Hagrid couldn't simply do it, the boat bumped into the harbor wall, and they both clambered out.

He followed the giant until they stopped next to a helicopter, and he let out a small gasp. It was his first time seeing one, and the sight was truly imposing. He was still staring open-mouthed when Hagrid handed him his small paper bag. He let out a relieved sigh when a quick check showed that nothing was missing.

Once the kind man had help him getting on the flying device, he fastened the seatbelt and accepted the communication headset. As they got higher and higher from the ground, Harry took his drawing supplies out of the bag and looked around. He doubted he would have another opportunity like this one anytime soon.

* * *

The flight was rather peaceful and between two sketches, the small talks with Hagrid were rather relaxing. They landed at the London's heliport, where an expensive looking car was waiting for them. At the gardener's gesture, Harry hesitantly got in the car, and found a bag of new clothes which actually fitted him.

"New clothes? Why?"

"Trust me; yeh'll need them where we're goin'."

With a confused frown, he put on the black shorts, and the white button-up. Eyeing the weather, he decided to add the dark hoodie, but left it open. Even though the clothes were obviously of good quality, the effort was ruined by the boy's wild hair, broken retro glasses and beat-up trainers. It almost looked as though he had stolen them.

The car slowed down to a stop, and he followed Hagrid out of the car. The wind hit his shins, the only parts not covered, and he shivered slightly. He almost had to run to match the giant's pace, and already breathless, he asked:

"Where are we going now? Do we start with the school supplies, or are we finally going to meet that mysterious person?"

"The meetin' first, then the shoppin'."

They kept walking, or running like this for a few more minutes, before Hagrid stopped before one of those fancy club for gentlemen, famous in the 19th century. Harry raised an eyebrow upon seeing the name of the establishment.

"The…Leaky Cauldron?"

His companion didn't seem to notice the skepticism in the young boy's voice, and nodded happily, before sobering and turning toward a confused Harry.

"Yeh better put the hood up before entering."

Following the strange advice, he pushed the door open, and let Hagrid lead the way to the bar, where the barman visibly brightened when he saw the gardener.

"The usual?"

"Yes, but first, I was told to brin' this little one to the room number 3. Is she already there?"

Tom, or so his nametag said, briefly looked at Harry, before doing double-take.

"Is that…?" He asked, eyes frantically searching Harry's forehead.

Dropping a heavy hand on the boy's head, and thus obscuring his view, Hagrid gave a small nod, a clear sign to be more discreet. After a moment, the barman slightly shook his head, and answered.

"Yes, but she asked to see him alone."

With a sigh, Hagrid took a seat on a stool.

"Of course she did… Would yeh mind showing him the way?" Turning to Harry, he added, "Don't worry, she will explain everything."

Torn between his hesitation to leave the only person he trusted and his desire to finally learn the truth, he started to follow Tom, and, without turning around, said with a confidence he didn't feel, "I'll be back soon."

He only heard a tired grunt before they silently engulfed in a corridor, passing numbered doors, and stopping once they reached the third one.

With a small bow and a 'if you need anything', the barman was gone, leaving Harry alone in front of the suddenly very imposing door. Knocking three times, he cautiously opened it and slowly stepped in.

Back to him, she seemed to be contemplating the tasteful painting resting against the wall. He could only see hair, dark gold with some strands of a strange caramel color. The girl appeared to be the same age as him, though maybe a tiny bit taller and her clothes looked pretty expensive.

After a minute or two of silence, she finally turned to him, revealing lightly tanned skin and striking blue-grey eyes.

Holding out a dainty hand, she said:

"Hello, Mr. Potter. My name is Daphne Greengrass, and from now on, I will be your half-sister."

* * *

 **Hello Gentle Readers!**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter, I certainly didn't.**

 **Hagrid's speech is so much easier to read than to write, I swear! Next chapter should explain Voldemort's 'death' and Harry's role as Daphne's everything.**

 **This story WILL be a Harry/Daphne story, but it won't be incest. Or maybe it will, I'm still trying to decide.**

 **Again, thank you for the support, and if you have any question, feel free to review.**

 **Have a nice day (or night).**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K Rowling does. I'm just a sad potato writing a fanfiction.**

 **Yes, Your Highness**

 _Britain's most famous bastard_

For the second time in two days, Harry was trapped in his own shock, unable to utter the simplest word, let alone a sentence. Emerald eyes wide, he could only stare at the reason of his suddenly erratic heart. If what she said was true…

It took him a few second to realise that the girl, no _Daphne_ , was returning the attention as intensely, taking note of every detail.

He blinked, unused to this type of scrutiny, more neutral than his aunt's. Coughing slightly and voice trembling, he asked:

"You're… My sister… Are you sure? I mean…"

She hummed, all the while continuing the inspection, keeping the intense look. After a few more tense seconds and no sign of a clear answer, Harry grew slightly annoyed. Wasn't there a rule saying that after turning someone's world upside down, you ought to give more than a simple 'hum'?

"What?"

Apparently, his tone and scowl were enough to snap her out of her trance, and after a light shake of her head, she answered in a disinterested voice.

"Nothing, it's just… Well, you looked smarter on the recordings."

Incredulous, Harry could feel the red rising to his cheeks. He was about to repeat his previous question, but was interrupted by Daphne.

"Anyway, since you belong to me-"

This time, the young boy didn't wait for a pause to speak.

"Wait, what?!"

"Didn't Hagrid tell you?"

The raised eyebrow was more a sign of slight confusion and curiosity, and less one of shock. Upon seeing this, Harry wouldn't have been able to stop the sarcastic answer, even if he had wanted to.

"No. No, he didn't. I guess this little detail must have slipped his mind."

The annoyed look he received was worth it though.

"Well, as you are aware, you are a bastard."

The young boy could feel the strain on his jaw muscles, and his expression hardened. It seemed that he was still not over this life-changing information. With a brusque move, he nodded his head for her to continue.

"As you can imagine, this type of things isn't exactly well regarded in our society, especially when one of the parents is already married to another woman. My mother, in this case."

For a second, Harry's mind just went blank. The sudden wave of guilt that came after was unexpected though, and the strength of it left him speechless. Was she actually saying that his father and her mother were…

"Your father, Lord James Potter, cheated on my mother, Lady Cassiopeia Greengrass, with Lily Evans, and you, Harry, are the result of this affair. Congratulations, Mister Potter. You are the reason why two of the most important families in all of the United Kingdom suffered humongous both social and financial backlash for years, and while you had no active part in this scandal, I am afraid you are the only one still able to suffer through the proper punishment. So, as I said before, you now belong to me."

Unmoving, the boy stared at her, feeling both sick and angry. He had to pay for his parents' indiscretion? The Dursleys' hate and the resulting abuse, and now this? Uncaring of his shock, once again, she added:

"You should be thankful you know? Back in the old days, they used to kill most of your kind."

"What if- What if I don't want that? What if I have other plans?"

"You mean your 'artist career'? Don't look at me like that; I know everything about your little hobby. Well, to tell you the truth, you don't really have a choice. Should you choose to walk away, I would hunt you down and make your existence a living hell."

The nonchalant way she uttered the threat perturbed the boy more than the threat itself. It sounded so effortless, as though she could do it right after breakfast without even being late for school.

"Would it really be worse than being forced to be a slave all my life?"

"If you do your job correctly, it might actually only be for a few years."

"If I were to accept, what would I have to do?"

Looking truly serious for the first time since the beginning of this conversation, she answered with a small, darkly satisfied smirk.

"You would only think of me, work for me, and die for me."

A stunned silence followed this declaration and Harry could only stare at this girl who so boldly proclaimed herself his new mistress.

"So basically, I would be your glorified butler."

"Yes."

"Can I take some time to think about it?"

"No."

Grey-blue clashed with emerald green for a few more seconds before Harry closed his eyes with a sigh, and tiredly asked:

"Where do I sign?"

With an amused smirk, Daphne took a small stack of paper from a leather brief case he hadn't noticed and handed him a heavy pen. He scribbled his name at the end of the contract and handed it back to her, but she gestured for him to keep it.

"You're not going to read it?

"I already know I just made a deal with the devil. What difference would it make?"

With an elegant shrug and a twitch of her lips, she muttered:

"Your choice." Louder she added, "Any other questions? I believe Mr. Hagrid is waiting for you."

Harry startled slightly, having forgotten about the gentle gardener. This conversation seemed so unrealistic that he felt as though he was in another world entirely. How long had the two of them talked? What time was it now? Thinking quickly, the young boy realised that he actually had a question, a rather important one actually.

"What can you tell me about my parents' death?"

Any trace of amusement was wiped out of her face, and tilting her head to the side, she let out a soft sigh.

"That's the big question, isn't it? Honestly, there's not much I can tell you. Nobody is really sure about what happened that night, and since the only witness still alive is you…"

"Hagrid told me that they sacrificed themselves for me. What- What did he mean by that?"

"Does the name 'Voldemort' sound familiar to you?"

"I heard it once or twice. The terrorist, right? Didn't he disappear a few years ago? What does he have to do this?"

"Do you know what he was fighting for?"

Shaking his head, Harry waited impatiently for the rest of the explanation.

"He was a fanatical who believed that the monarch should take full powers back from the parliament. Coincidentally, he thought that he was the rightful next king of Britain. Of course, his theory appealed to many lazy members of the nobility who saw this so-called 'New Golden Age' as an easy way to regain their former powers without having to do much work."

If they weren't talking about the tragic event that changed his life forever, Harry might have found the disdain and quiet anger in Daphne's voice amusing.

"Again, what does that have to do with me?"

"You represent everything he so desperately hated. Well, you and your parents. The Lord who lowered himself to the level of a plebeian? The poor girl who had the audacity to share the bed of her better? And you, the bastard who was named legitimate heir of one of the wealthiest and most powerful House? Why, you were like his worst nightmare coming true. So nearly ten years ago, on the night of Halloween, he came to your home. All I know is that ten minutes later, the house lay in ruins, your parents were found dead and you alive, and there was no trace left of Voldemort. That's where you got this scar on your forehead, you know? Those who know the story know what it represents."

"What do you mean 'those who know the story'?"

"The government wasn't really overjoyed with the way everything ended. The Big Bad Voldemort defeated by a baby after years of failed attempts by the Services? That couldn't end well. So most of the public got the vague story, and the rest was given the truer, but not more precise version."

Daphne checked her wrist watch and raised a surprised eyebrow. Apparently, he wasn't the only one being too caught up to notice the time they spent on this bizarre conversation.

"Well, if that was all, I have places to be, so…"

Harry followed her stare, confused by the pause, and could only see the door. After a few seconds, the annoyed girl rolled her eyes and finally voiced her thoughts.

"You're supposed to open the doors for me. Weren't you listening earlier?"

"Do you actually need help? Can't you open a door alone?"

Her cheeks pinked slightly, and the annoyed look turned into a full glare.

"It was in the contract. If you have any regrets, you should have read it before agreeing." With a mutter still loud enough for him to hear it, she added, "You really did look smarter on the recordings."

Clenching his teeth, he walked up to the door and, with exaggerated movements, opened it and bowed down as low as he could.

With a huff she passed next to him and without stopping said in haughty voice:

"I expect you to be better than this by the time we will see each other again."

"And when exactly will I have the immense pleasure of hearing your lovely voice again?"

Her eyebrow twitching, she kept walking down the hall.

"I will see you the first September, on the platform. Don't make me wait."

With a mix of fake deference, annoyance and sarcasm, he answered back:

"Yes, your Highness."

* * *

 **Sorry for the late update, I've been busy those past few months and I didn't really find the time to write.**

 **So, what do you think about this chapter? We will learn more about the affair when Harry actually meets Cassiopeia, because Daphne doesn't know that much about it, just the basic facts.**

 **I'll try to update faster, but no promise, this school year is really important, so I have to focus on my studies.**

 **PS: I've started to write a Xover Harry Potter/Batman, Fem!Harry. I will post the first chapter soon, so if you're interested...**

 **Hope you'll like it,**

 **Have a nice day/night!**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: I do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. I'm just a lonely crumb writing a fanfiction.**

 **Yes, Your Highness!**

 _Let's play_

By the time Harry reached the entrance, he only caught a flash of blond hair before the door closed behind her. He stared a few seconds before turning around with a sigh, sharp eyes looking for his unofficial guardian.

Not finding him anywhere despite his rather impressive build, the boy slowly made his way to the bar, slumping tiredly on the comfortable high stool once he managed to climb on it. Hearing a faint but not unkind chuckle, he lifted his head just enough to throw an ineffective glare at Tom, suddenly exhausted. The bartender kept staring at him, slight smile on his lips and wiping a glass with an ease that hinted at years of repetition of the same movements.

"So, where's Hagrid?"

"He went to the bank, had to get something important for Dumbledore. He should be back in a few. Want some milk?"

Blushing, Harry ducked his head and shook his head.

"I don't have any money…"

With a huff of laughter, Tom opened the fridge door under the bar, neatly poured the milk in a glass and offered it to the embarrassed child.

"I think we will be able to cover the loss for this one."

The old bartender winked at the still blushing child, silver hair glinting under the dim lights. Reaching for the beverage, Harry could feel his energy vanishing along the milk as he drank the cool drink, the quiet conversations and soft music a sweet lullaby, and soon his blinking got longer and longer until his eyes remained closed.

* * *

His slumber was interrupted by a warm hand gently shaking his shoulder. Opening his eyes with great reluctance, Harry tried not to yawn too widely but still had to cover his mouth with his left hand, the right one righting his glasses, half hanging from one ear and about to fall off his face completely.

"Sorry for the wait, there was a long line."

For the first time since they met, Hagrid's voice was as soft as his dark eyes. Still feeling drowsy, Harry just nodded and said quietly:

"Don't worry, it wasn't that long. What did you get?"

"M' afraid I can't tell yeh."answered the gardener with a slight grin. "Are yeh ready teh go?"

Hiding his curiosity, the young boy just nodded again and said his goodbyes to Tom, thanking him for the milk.

Once outside, the sudden noises and the cold breeze caressing his face finally woke him up, and he looked up at Hagrid, squinting against the harsh light.

"Where to now?"

"First thing first, yer uniform. Hope Madam Malkin won't have too many customers…"

With those words, he started to walk down the street, Harry trailing behind him quickly, feeling not a small amount of dread. The only uniforms he had ever seen were Smeltings' and Stonewall's, neither much appealing to the eye, though he couldn't help but imagine what Daphne would look like in one of those. He snorted. For everyone's sake, he really hoped Hogwarts' would be more pleasant. As if reading his mind, Hagrid asked:

"How did it go?"

Staring at the ground, the boy answered moodily:

"If you forget the fact that I now belong to a girl who's apparently too great to open the door herself, well enough I guess."

Hagrid let out a sigh.

"So yeh signed the contract then."

"Did I really have a choice?"

"I guess not. What did it say?"

"Don't know." Harry shrugged, "Haven't read it yet."

The gardener abruptly stopped, ignoring the passerby's angry mutterings, and looked at Harry with round eyes.

"Yeh mean yeh signed a contract without even knowin' what it said?!"

Angry and frustrated, the boy raised his head and repeated:

"Again, did I really have a choice?"

Uncomfortable, the imposing man scratched the back of his head.

"Still, now that yer part of this world, yeh have teh be cautious 'bout those things. Yeh never know what they can slip between the lines. From now on, be careful, alright?"

Harry gave a hesitant nod and followed Hagrid, grateful for the silence that enveloped the pair.

A few minutes later, the unusual duo stopped in front of an old-fashioned tailor shop, showcasing a well-made three-piece suit, an elegant tuxedo, and a strict, almost military uniform. His eyes settled on the gold writing displayed across the clean glass.

' _Malkin's, founded in 1859, Hogwarts' Appointed Tailor'_

The overall effect was rather impressive, he had to admit, and it was with the familiar sensation of not belonging that he followed the gardener into the shop.

The rush of warmth coming from the air-conditioner made his skin tingle pleasantly, and he relaxed further when he observed the store. The red and golden carpets seemed to blur together to look like dancing fire and the old but well taken care of Chesterfields only contributed to the cozy appearance. It reminded him of the Leaking Cauldron and he wondered if the others shops would look like those.

He startled upon hearing a kind voice right behind him and turning around his gaze met his interlocutor's. There, smiling warmly, amused and politely curious, was a squat woman, whose smile widened when she caught sight of Hagrid, though how she could have missed him in the first place was a real mystery to Harry.

"Hagrid, dear, what can I do for you today? Or is it for this lovely boy?"

"The young one today, though if yeh received those gloves yeh told meh about…"

"You're in luck, I got them this morning. Go ahead, love."

As she talked to them, the plump woman crossed the shop, reaching the "changing room" and invited them in.

As she looked at him as though she was waiting for him to do something, he could only stand there, staring uncomfortably back at her.

"Well, what are you waiting for, dear? Go ahead, take off those clothing!"

"Wh-What!?"

His voice came out much more high-pitched than usual, and he reddened even more upon hearing it.

"Now boy, there's no need to be shy! I just need to take some measurements. "

Turning to look at Hagrid only to receive a nod, he slowly undressed himself until he was only standing in his boxers and vest, trying vainly to shy away from their critical stares.

"My, how skinny you are! Lift yours arms up and stand still, will you, love?"

Obeying, he raised his arms and waited for her to be finished, anxiously listening to her humming and mumbles.

"4 feet 9… 28 inches… 24 inches… Well!" the loud clap startled Harry who tensed even further, not wanting to ruin her work. Her next exclamation, however, surprised him enough to finally lower his aching limbs.

"Oh, how marvelous! You, my dear child, have a wonderfully proportioned body!"

Shoving the paper on which his measurements were written, she made a giddy little dance.

"Thin arms and legs, slim shoulders and a narrow waist! Oh, the possibilities will be endless with this one! I was truly starting to despair, you know? The young Nott has such broad shoulders, the little Malfoy has an awful posture, and don't even get me started on Crabbe and Goyle!"

Apparently well-used to her rants, Hagrid interrupted her before she was too far to be gently stopped.

"How long before his uniforms are ready?"

Throwing him a petulant glare, she huffed.

"In the middle of the Busy Week? They won't be ready before the 18th August."

"The Dursleys won't allow me to come back just for that!" said Harry to Hagrid, voice filled with anguish.

"Can't yeh try and make'em quickly?"

"Who do you think I am? Morgana?! I know that I'm a fast worker but this is ridiculous!"

"Yeh heard him, didn't yeh? He won't be able teh come back in time."

The two seemed to be locked in a stand-off before Madam Malkin broke it with another huff, more resigned.

"Well, I guess I can see if I have some uniforms finished and close to his size, but the adjustments will take an hour or two at least."

"That would be perfect! Yeh really are the best!" Hagrid boomed in his loud voice.

Still grumpy but smiling, the tailor ushered them out of the room, then out of the shop.

"Be back at 1p.m, not one minute before!"

* * *

Back on the street, Harry looked up at Hagrid, the silent question easily answered.

"Teh the Library we go!"

As they walked, Harry asked the question that had been at the back of his mind since he received that letter.

"Say, Hagrid… How am I going to pay for everything? I don't have any money and the Dursleys would rather die than buying me such nice things."

"Don't yeh worry 'bout that, lad! Yer parents left a hefty sum of money for yeh. Yeh didn't thought they'd forgot about yeh, did yeh?"

The boy remained silent. Did he think his parents had left him without anything? Yes, but then again he had spent the last ten years of his life thinking that his parents had been careless drunkards, dying in a stupid car crash. Now however, he knew that they had been trying to protect him, their bastard child, and killed by a terrorist. Needless to say, that last bit of information demanded some time to be properly accepted.

When they arrived in front of their destination, Harry was surprised to see that he had actually already heard of it. After all, _Flourish and Blotts_ was one of the largest and oldest library in London, and it showed. He had already seen pictures of it in the papers, of course, but there was something truly breathtaking about standing before this majestic five-floors building, made of grey stone, glass and wrought iron. It might have given the library a cold appearance if not for the warm lights coming from inside, inviting even the busier passerby to enter and take a look inside. Next to the elegant gold writing announcing the establishment's name was the same inscription ' _Hogwarts' appointed supplier_ ', only smaller and older.

Realizing that Hagrid was no longer by his side but already entering the store, he hurried after him, head rapidly swiveling, trying desperately to take everything in. If he closed his eyes, he was sure he would be able to see the centuries' worth of clients experiencing the same feeling of awe.

In a daze, he trailed behind the giant up to the fourth floor where a 'Scholar' sign welcomed them. Taking the rumpled letter out of his coat, the gardener approached a sales assistant but was interrupted before he could say anything.

"Year?"

The bored tone showed clearly how little he cared and how used to this he was.

"First. We made a special request under the name of Smith."

He presented a few pounds, and without even counting or looking at them, the pimply young man accepted the money, slid a stack of books across his small desk and turned back to his computer without another word.

"Well then, ah… Good bye I guess…"

When they received no more response than a grunt, they slowly turned back and went down the stairs.

"What was that about a special request?"

"Don't yeh worry 'bout that, it's just a few books 'bout etiquette and butler duties."

The reminder of just what he'd agreed to do for the next few years was like having a bucket filled with ice-cold water dumped on his head on a winter day – and thanks to Dudley, he knew exactly what that felt like.

Perhaps sensing his sudden mood swing, Hagrid looked at him and gently said:

"It won't be that bad, yeh know? Sure, it's tiring, but sometimes, it can be fun!"

Harry could only throw him a glance full of incredulity.

"Fun? Have you met Daphne?"

"Trust meh lad, it won't be that bad. All yeh have teh do is doing a few small jobs. It's like chores, really!"

The boy stayed silent, unwilling to even think about it for the time-being. The walk to the next shop seemed longer than the others, more solemn, Hagrid's shoulders tensing with every step and his expression growing more serious.

This look really didn't suit him, decided Harry.

It wasn't until they reached the dusty store that the young boy realized he didn't even know what they were doing here; the almost faded _Ollivanders_ sign not helping in the least. Just as he was about to ask the question, he caught sight of the gentle gardener's tense jaw and conflicted eyes just before he pushed the door open.

The soft jingle of the bell seemed to echo for a few second before silence enveloped the room yet again.

Just like with the other stores, Harry looked around and observed as many things as he could, but this time, there was none of the feelings of awe and comfort. No, this time, there was only confusion and fear. But no, surely Hagrid had an excellent reason to bring an eleven year old boy in an armory, right?

"Hagrid," he cautiously began, "what are we-"

Before he could finish, a whispered "Hello" right next to his ear made him jump several feet in the air.

Slowly turning his head, he gulped loudly upon seeing the wide pale grey eyes fixed on him with an oppressing intensity. Fortunately, the nightmarish picture was broken by his guardian's sigh.

"Harry, this is Mr. Ollivander."Reluctantly turning toward the strange man without looking at him in the eyes, he added "I believe you already know who the boy is."

"Indeed… Indeed I do." His voice was as thin as his hairs and as dry as his dead plants. "Mr. Potter… Yes of course, I was eagerly awaiting your visit. I must say, I am glad to see that you decided to preserve the familial tradition. Your father was… less than enthusiastic about it."

Rather than asking the same question over and over, the boy just stared tiredly at Hagrid, eyes just screaming "what now?!", which actually seemed to amuse him enough to get rid of this dark look. His answer just transformed the exhausted stare into an annoyed glare.

"It's all in the books."

Biting back a snarky remark, Harry startled when he felt a cool touch on his hand, only to see Ollivander staring at it critically.

"Thin fingers, thin wrists, thin skin…"

If there was one thing that Harry didn't need to be reminded of, it was the fact that he _was_ thin.

"Well at least, that makes fewer possibilities."

Finally giving in, Harry asked the obvious question.

"Possibilities for what?"

If possible, the old man's eyes seemed to grow even wider and he answered as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why my boy, a gun of course!"

"There was nothing about a gun in the school list!" Harry guessed that, had he been raised like any other little boy, or at least like Dudley, he would have been delighted at the prospect of having a real gun; but as it was, he could only wonder why anyone would ever think that it was a good idea to give such a weapon to a child.

"As the heir and last Potter, it will be much safer. Trust meh."

"Safer?! I don't even know how to use a bloody gun!"

"Don't yeh worry, yeh'll learn all about that in Hogwarts."

"Hagrid, could you, for once, give me a real answer? Ever since _this_ " he gestured wildly, panting and flushed, "started, there's not a single thing that makes sense, and _this_ is my life!"

Nearly out of breath, it took him a few moments to realize that yes, he had been yelling and that yes, the two adults were staring at him wide-eyed. Coughing lightly, he muttered an apology and cast his eyes aside when he felt the warm heavy weight of Hagrid's hand on his head.

"There's so much teh say… It would be better if yeh just waited a little bit before learning about all of this. It's a lot to take in."

Harry almost snorted but didn't push. Clearly, he wouldn't learn anything new about The Truth today. He turned to Ollivander, who hadn't moved, nor blinked, since the beginning of his small rant. The old man gave a small smile and pointed to the chairs across a messy desk and made a gesture to follow him.

Once the giant and his young charge were uncomfortably seated on the unstable piece of furniture, they waited a few moments for the manager to come back from wherever he had disappeared. When he returned, his arms were full of rectangular boxes, some dusty, some brand new. Just as Harry expected, all contained guns, although their shapes and levels of intimidation varied more or less.

The next few minutes were filled with unsuccessful tries and increasing boxes on the groaning desk. The more weapons were rejected, the more Ollivander grew excited and restless. Finally, the moment Harry feared arrived: none of the presented revolver seemed to feel right in his tired hand.

Raking a boney hand through his disheveled hair, the gun dealer fixed his customer with another intense stare.

"I wonder if… Yes, yes I guess it would make sense…"

And with those mysterious words, he disappeared again, only to bring back a larger black box, one of the oldest yet.

Opening it, Harry quickly realized that the case was actually meant to hold two guns, and yet, there was only one. With an impatient nod and a "Go ahead!", the boy lifted the revolver. Compared to other weapons, there were stark differences. This one actually fitted in his palm and wasn't weighting down his hand. The wooden grip felt comfortable against his skin, and Harry could only half-listen to the old man explanations as he carefully traced the delicate etchings dancing across the barrel, cylinder and frame. The contrast between the dark metal and the almost golden carving was truly captivating

"This one is an engraved brass .45 army revolver. The original customer has asked for two of those, but he unfortunately died in a duel before he could come and reclaim them. It is one of my grandfather's last works."

"This one does seem familiar. What happened teh the other one?"

"The other was sold decades ago to an extraordinary young man. Alas, none of his deeds were very generous, I'm afraid. He chose to use his great powers to accomplish terrible things. I guess it would make sense for you, of all people, to be the one who would receive the sister of his preferred arm of destruction, Mr. Potter."

"Yeh mean that the other one belonged teh…"

Hearing the tremors in his guardian's voice, Harry looked up and was surprised by how pale Hagrid suddenly was.

"Yes. The second gun was sold to Voldemort."

Suddenly, the boy could understand the strange reaction, and the revolver felt much heavier than mere second before. Carefully placing it back in the box, he noticed something that he had apparently missed during his first impression. There, on the grip, in a loopy, golden calligraphy, was written a strange name.

"Excuse me sir, but what does 'Hedwig' mean?"

At the question, the man gave a wheezy chuckle and smiled.

"A very good question, Mr. Potter. You see, the original client was a young man full of enthusiasm who wanted to be the protector of the widows and orphans. He also had an… interesting sense of humor and asked my grandfather to grave on each revolver the name of their saints patrons. The other was St. Paula, patron of widows, and yours is St. Hedwig, protector of orphans. Fitting, don't you think?"

Harry wasn't sure he shared either of their sense of humor.

Hagrid was apparently agreeing with him because after a few moments, they were out of the shop, revolver paid and safely put with the books.

"I'm sorry."

Intrigued, the boy just looked at him, waiting for him to develop.

"Yeh're right, yeh are too young. Yeh shouldn't hafta walk 'round with a gun at yer age. I thought that those days were behind us, but I guess that it can't be helped."

Not knowing how to answer, Harry stayed silent and followed Hagrid down the street, staring at the pavement deep in thought.

Soon they reached _Malkin's,_ just a few minutes late and gratefully entered the warm tailor shop. Even his thick hoodie wasn't enough against the cold weather and the rapidly falling temperature. The joyous woman entered the room at the same time, bringing with her some bags.

"There you are! I just finished the adjustments on the uniform; I just need you to try those."

With those words, she handed him a black sweater, a black sleeveless pullover, and one of the displayed black military jacket.

Harry wondered aloud why the first two piece of clothing were oversized whereas the last fitted perfectly.

"Well, how else would you hide your gun? Oh, which remind me, do you already have a holster, my dear?"

Not even surprised by how everyone seemed to think it was normal for him to have a gun, he shook his head.

"Well, no worries, love! I have one right here. And there are your gloves."

She slipped the new boxes into one of the bags, and handed them to Hagrid. With a small, happy smile, she announced the price, and while Harry couldn't believe that he was spending so much money on himself Hagrid just sighed and handed her a credit card.

Just as she was reaching for it, rain started to fall heavily, and Harry failed to suppress a shiver. He would be soaked as soon as he would step outside.

Madam Malkin's eyes softened but her smile grew when she noticed. Turning toward the already cringing gardener, she raised her eyebrows.

"We wouldn't want the boy to catch a cold now, would we? Here, let me fetch a coat, I'll just put it with the rest."

Before any of them could protest, she was skipping toward the end of the store. After a beat or two, Harry muttered an apology, again.

"Stop doin' that. Yeh're not responsible for the rain, are yeh?"

"There you go!"

With a small thank you, he accepted the dark duffle coat, feeling the rough wool against his skin as he put it on.

Finally accepting the credit card, she hummed as the payment was accepted and handed back the card.

"Thank you for your fidelity, we hope you are satisfied with our work!"

Hagrid grunted before leaving the shop, and after another thank you, Harry followed him.

"What now?"

He almost had to shout to be heard, the rain almost hitting him with every drop. Seeing the sympathetic look Hagrid send him, he felt every bit of happiness disappearing.

"Now, we take yeh back home."

* * *

 **AN: The shopping chapter is finally over! I hope it wasn't too boring, I tried to make it more interesting, but it's still shopping, so…**

 **Again, thank you for all the support, you guys/girls are great!**

 **I published the first chapter of my crossover, so if you're interested by a fem!Harry, HP/Batman Xover…**

 **Anyway, hope you liked it,**

 **Have a good day/night!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. I'm just rewriting history.**

 **Yes, Your Highness!**

Huffing and puffing, Harry could only regret putting on his new coat this morning as he ran through the seemingly endless corridors of King's cross station. Checking his watch for the millionth time, the boy cursed quietly. Only ten minutes left. If only the Dursleys had deigned to leave on time, and the signs in the hall had been clearer, maybe he wouldn't be dying just to try and catch a bloody train.

'Of course', he thought, 'Of course Hogwarts' students can't do it the easy way and take a normal train!'

Looking both ways to find the elusive entry leading to the famous Hogwarts Express, the breathless boy came to a screeching halt when he finally caught sight of it.

Gasping, hands clutching shaking knees, Harry breathed out a quick 'Hello' to the guard standing in the doorway who merely nodded.

"Is this… Is this the right way to the Hogwarts Express?"

"The train is leaving in ten."

"I know, I know!"

The guard stared at him some more, chewing steadily on his gum.

"Ticket."

Dropping his old bag pack to the ground, Harry immediately started to ruffle through it, cursing his still aching lungs.

"Right, yes, of course, of course! Just a minute! Almost got it… There!"

Brandishing his prize, he quickly thrusted it in the guard's face, almost hitting him in the process.

Seeing the dark glare thrown his way, Harry cringed and muttered a small apology.

Fidgeting, the boy wondered if the tall man was trying to get some petty revenge. Surely it couldn't take that long to check a simple ticket! Shifting restlessly one leg to the other, he felt like he was on the verge of explosion when the guard returned the piece of paper to him.

With a quick 'Thank you!', Harry darted around the man and kept running until he almost collided with hurried parents and their wonderstruck children. Looking around, he could easily share their amazement. It seemed to him as though he had just used a time machine and was now standing in a train station from the nineteenth century. The locomotive in front of him, huge, red, green, yellow and blue, looked like a real sized child toy. The photos in the books had nothing on its real magnificence, and Harry could feel his body vibrating with excitement, eager to just get on board of the gleaming, almost magical train, but he was soon distracted by a now familiar sensation.

Feeling his hairs rising and his neck burning, the wary boy slowly turned around, fighting against the sudden urge to flee once he caught sight of the dreaded responsible.

There, standing amongst the bustling commoners, eyebrow raised and arms crossed, looking for all the world like a queen in the midst of peasants, Daphne Greengrass stared back at him, utterly unimpressed.

Hesitating for a second or two, Harry haltingly made his way toward her, dragging his feet and looking around for any kind of divine intervention.

"You're late."

"I know."

Without saying anything, the girl lazily looked him up-and-down before narrowing her dark eyes once they reached his feet. Or more precisely, the shoes that barely covered them.

"What is that?"

Eyeing the filthy things, a weird shade of brown letting through some glimpses of the old blue colour, the sole hanging on for dear life, Harry felt a blush rising to his pale cheeks and could only mumble an explanation.

"Those are the only ones I have. Sorry…"

Not answering for a few seconds, Daphne kept her gaze fixed on the offending sneakers. Finally raising her eyes to meet his, the heiress uttered one of the first of many orders.

"Take them off."

Furrowing his dark brows, the befuddled boy shook his head.

"I- What?"

Repeating her order with a steady gaze, Daphne looked at him expectantly.

"Look, I know they're not great, but they're better than walking around bare foot!"

The doubt in her eyes was clear to see.

"No. No, I'm not going to take off my shoes just because you don't like them."

"Well, you don't really have a choice in the matter, you know? I trust you have read the contract by now. It's simple really. I tell you to do something, and you do it. See? Simple, no? Even you should understand that."

To any onlookers, the contrast between the two must have looked almost ridiculous. Everything seemed to scream 'OPPOSITE', from their hair to their eyes, height and clothes, but mostly their expression: a smug smile painted on the girl's face and an angry frown fixed on the boy's.

"I won't do it."

The amusement slowly bled away to let her irritation shine through, and this time, her voice was serious.

"Take. Them. Off. You have to. It's an order."

Despite his years as the Dursley's slave, Harry had never managed to get rid of one particular personality trait. He _hated_ it when people told him what to do, especially when the orders came from a girl who had ripped his entire world apart without a care in the world and looked at him as though he was not even worthy of her presence.

Straightening, he was further annoyed by the realization that even standing like that, she was still taller.

"Yes, well I'm disobeying the order. What happens now?"

After a few seconds, the smile returned, slowly, showing one too many teeth.

"Well, I guess I can't do anything about that, can I? You'll just have to go back with your lovely family then. I'm sure they'll be delighted to have you with them for another year. What was I thinking really! Trying to separate such a loving family. You all must have been so heartbroken to learn that you wouldn't see each other for an entire year!"

If possible, the smugness in her smile seemed to increase tenfold, a knowing light in her strange eyes. The world around him seemed to freeze as he realized the situation, and Harry stared at the girl, eyes wide and heart thudding wildly. She _knew_. She knew about his treatment at the Dursleys, about the harsh words and chores, and yet…

She had told him the day they met that she would knew everything about him and that she would make his life hell if he refused to serve her, but he hadn't expected her to know about his life at the Dursleys and to just use it against him…

"If you run quickly enough, I bet you can catch them. Or I could give you a ride if you wanted? That would be so much easier, don't you think?"

Clenching his jaw so tightly it was painful, Harry glared at her, emerald eyes filled with poison.

"You think you're so funny, don't you?"

Recognising a victory when she saw one, Daphne smirked and leisurely made her way toward the green wagon.

"There's a trash can right there." Softly but still loud enough for him to hear, she added "Easier than I thought…"

Nostrils flaring, he harshly tugged at his shoes, freeing his aching feet, and threw the trainers in the trash with a loud thud. Seeing the two suitcases and five bags sitting on the platform, Harry turned around eyes fixed on the blonde's back.

"You forgot your baggage."

Without stopping or responding, the girl disappeared in the wagon.

Considering the offending objects, the boy thought about leaving them there but quickly dismissed the idea.

A quick look at the great clock informed him that he only had five minutes left, and the heavy baggage didn't seem to be willing to cooperate anytime soon.

Struggling against the weight, Harry was interrupted by two redheaded twins.

"Well, well, well, look at what we've got here, Forge!"

"Why, Gred, if it isn't a cute little firstie!"

"Why, yes it is! Look at him, all lost and confused!"

"D'you reckon we should help him?"

"Perhaps we should!"

"Or perhaps we shouldn't!"

Annoyed by the new interruption, the tired boy only stared at the two wildly grinning lunatics, eager to just be over with it.

"Right… Well, if that was all, I really have to go now, so..."

But just as he stepped away, they followed him, eyes bright with mischief.

"Do _you_ need help? He looks like he needs help, doesn't he Forge?"

"That he does!"

Staring at each other, the odd trio didn't move for some time before Harry shook his head and tried to step away, but was blocked yet again by the twins. Sighing loudly, the boy looked up in their twinkling eyes, his own orbs tired and slightly begging.

"Look, I really have to go now, so could you please, _please_ , let me go?"

Face softening, the brothers turned to each other, and after what appeared to be a mental discussion, nodded at the same time.

"He needs help."

And with that, the two redheads took a suitcase and two bags each, leaving one for the confused but glad boy to take.

"Where to?"

With a small smile, Harry gestured to the green wagon. Following his pointed finger, the twins suddenly tensed.

"Oh."

"You're a Slytherin?"

Confused by their strange reaction, the first year cocked his head to the side, bangs falling in front of his emerald eyes.

"Well, the letter said that I was supposed to be in Gryffindor, but the bags belong to a Slytherin. Why?"

After another shared look, the brothers relaxed and the easy smile returned.

"Nothing, nothing! So, who do you know in Slytherin?"

"And more importantly, _why_ do you know a Slytherin?"

They reached the wagon and with some difficulty, the trio managed to get all the luggage inside.

"Daphne Greengrass. It's… complicated."

Seeing the curiosity shining in their eyes, Harry gave them a quick but polite smile.

"Thank you for your help, I owe you one. You should hurry though; the train will leave in a minute now."

"Oh, we know. What's your name already?"

"Harry. Harry Potter. And you are?"

Hearing his name, they narrowed their eyes thoughtfully, before shaking their heads and smiling brightly, all in synch.

"George."

Harry blinked.

"You're… both named George?"

"No, of course not! That would be ridiculous! Wouldn't it be, George?"

"You're absolutely right, George! Preposterous, for sure!"

Eyes jumping from one serious looking redhead to the other, the boy started to slowly walk backward.

"Right… Well, _George_ , thank you again. See you around, I guess."

"Oh, but we will, won't we, George?"

"I do believe so, George!"

With one last confused smile, Harry turned around and quickly left the mad brothers behind.

Now advancing with some difficulty thanks to the full luggage, the boy quickly noticed two kinds of doors; the unmarked ones, and the ones with names written on each compartment door, like _Bulstrode, Flint,_ or _Greengrass._

Stopping, Harry took a deep breath and knocked. Not hearing any response, he opened the door and found Daphne sitting in a position that could not be comfortable but certainly did look stately. Back barely touching velvety seat, ankles crossed, elbow resting against the window sill and hand gently cradling her face, her eyes just barely opened regarded him for a moment before closing again.

Letting out another breath, Harry started to store the baggage up in the nets above the seats, struggling against their weights and sizes. Finally succeeding after a few tries, the boy wiped his hands on his black shorts, giving an unseen nod at the resting girl before starting to leave the compartment.

"What are you doing?"

Turning around, Harry met her hooded eyes with a confused look.

"Well, to the Gryffindor wagon. The- The letter said that-."

"Sit."

Hesitating for a second, the perplexed boy did as he was told, for once without protest.

"For your information, you are my butler before you are a Gryffindor. I can't have you on the other side of the train now, can I?"

"Then, wouldn't it have been easier to just put me in Slytherin?"

"That's not how it works."

After a few seconds of silence, Harry sighed and gave in.

"How does it work? The letter wasn't very clear."

Despite how impossible it looked, Daphne managed to straighten even further, maintaining the bored look.

"That's because it's common knowledge. It's quite basic really. Sons and daughters of important CEOs or exceptionally gifted children go to Ravenclaw, though the second condition is rarely met nowadays. Hufflepuff is composed of barons' and baronets' children, or they're here on a favour, though in the old times that was where the bastards were sent to." At this she sent him a not so subtle glance and Harry couldn't help fidgeting. "Then there are the two Great Houses. In Slytherin, you will find most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families' heirs, the future Dukes, Marquis, Earls and Viscounts of Great Britain. Gryffindor, however, doesn't follow the same rules as the others. Its prime role is to form the elite of the military. That's where the strategists' offspring or knights' descendants go, but also the high rankings'. They are the soldiers of the Empire, the crown's shield. Those two houses have the most restricted access. It's almost impossible to be sorted into one of them without being someone's child, or cousin."

"Well, it is Hogwarts School for Heirs and Gifted…"

Staring at him, Daphne's lips twitched and she closed her eyes with a small huff.

"You know; I think that's the first clever thing you've said in my presence."

For a while neither said a thing, the train finally leaving and rocking under them.

* * *

A sudden pain in his left knee woke Harry up, unaware he had even fell asleep in the first place.

"Whu-?"

Before he could finish his incoherent mumbling, the pain reappeared, but this time, he easily identified the culprit.

Digging the tip of her shoe in his flesh, Daphne gave him an almost childish smile.

"Wake up."

Voice thick with sleep, Harry tiredly rubbed his eyes.

"You could have started with that, y'know…"

The girl just hummed and twisted her foot.

"I could have, yes."

Sighing, the boy dropped his hands on his lap, head tilted back.

"What did you wake me for, anyway?"

"Not that I should be telling you this but we're arriving in fifteen minutes."

"And?"

" _And,_ unless you actually want to walk around shoeless and without the uniform, then go ahead."

"You do realize that you're responsible for at least one f those things, right?"

"The word you're looking for is _thanks._ "

" _Thanks_."

With a sickly sweet smile, Daphne twisted her foot further.

"You're welcome."

"But I don't have any other shoes. I told you that before you made me throw them out, if you remember."

Letting her foot fall, the bored girl crossed her arms and sighed.

"If you could stop complaining for a second…"

She gave a nod toward the suitcase above his head.

"You should find something in here. With some luck, the size won't be too big."

Climbing to his feet then on the seat with some difficulty, Harry tugged at the suit case until it was free. Opening it, he found a few pairs of shoes, black, green or white, for winter and autumn.

"So I just… Pick one?"

"No, you just stare at them until one of them pick you."

"You could have just said yes."

"I could have, yes."

Shifting through the pairs, Harry settled on the simplest, black one.

Grabbing his old bag which contained his uniform, Harry turned around sheepishly to face Daphne, who let out a sigh.

"Down the hall after the Parkinson compartment."

"Thanks."

As the door slid closed, Harry barely heard the heiress' mutterings.

"I really shouldn't be doing this."

Blinking, Harry considered turning around and ask what that was all about, but decided not to.

As the young bastard walked down the hall, he took the time to check out the other names on the doors.

 _Malfoy, Nott,_ _Parkinson_.

Quickly entering the washroom, Harry didn't lose any time and put on the military looking uniform and the -slightly too big - shoes.

Leaving the small room, he almost ran into someone and mumbled an apology, ready to go on his way, not really looking at his interlocutor, but his next words stopped him.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

The voice was so filled with disdain and disgust that Harry almost choked on it.

Looking up, his eyes met pale grey ones, and Harry couldn't help but associate them with Dudley's. There was the same mean, egoistical spark belonging solely to spoiled individuals who could get anything they wanted, and knew it.

" _You_ are a _Gryffindor_ ; _this_ is the _Slytherin_ wagon. We don't want any of your kind here."

"And you are…?"

The platinum haired boy straightened, nose in the air until he was almost tiptoeing. The position attracted Harry's attention to his clothing, a different kind of uniform, more classic, and yet also more expensive-looking.

"My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir of Lord Malfoy."

The fact that he hadn't bother to ask Harry's name was not lost on him. And so, in true Harry Potter fashion, he decided to retaliate.

"Oh okay, I was afraid it was somebody actually important! Now if you'll excuse me…"

Stepping away from the shell-shocked boy, Harry stepped around him, quickly reaching the Greengrass compartment and slipped inside before closing the door.

Daphne had returned to her initial position but her half-lidded eyes were now full barely hidden curiosity.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

The quick response, too quick not to be suspicious, did not help Daphne's curiosity at all.

"Was that Malfoy's voice I heard?"

"No."

"Were you cheeky with him?"

"How could I have been cheeky with him we weren't talking?"

With a small smile, Daphne closed her eyes.

"Cheeky bastard."

But Harry wasn't listening anymore, because at that moment, for the first time in his life, like a mythical island among the cold scottisch sea, he caught sight of the magnificent Hogwarts Castle, School for Heirs and Gifted, and from now on, his new Home.

* * *

 **AN: So sorry for the long wait, but as I said at the beggining of this story, this year was very important at school, but now it's over, so...**

 **I should be able to update more regularly from now on, so stay tuned!**

 **I started a HarryxHermione drabble fic recently, just to try my hand at romance so that I won't screw up on my other fics, Yes, Your Highness and Aconitum.**

 **Again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter,**

 **and as always,**

 **Have a nice day/night!**


End file.
